


When the lights go out

by jstrattford



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:30:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4463801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jstrattford/pseuds/jstrattford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry doesn’t believe in fairytale endings, but a masquerade party changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the lights go out

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote [this fic](http://arie-172.tumblr.com/post/87343363742/when-the-lights-go-out) ages ago, and it really doesn't feel like I wrote it. Or as how I would I describe, it's just one of those fics I kind of regret writing, but because it's longer than some of my other ones on here, I'll post it (and I shall go hide now).

Harry’s fingers dig into his plastic blue cup, overheated in his black t-shirt and pants that seem to be marked into his skin, as his green eyes wander across the busy room. There’s no familiar face he sees (or at least there’s no one he wants to see) because most people are too pissed drunk to hold a decent conversation.

To be fair, Harry’s having a hard time finding anyone because they’re all wearing costumes along with their black and white masks, but he’s hoping to find a familiar face, squinting his eyes in the attempt to improve his eyesight.

Harry lets out an uneasy breath, dread lined up in his face from all the ringing music in his ears. He’s never been a partier and the empty beer cans and people sprawled on the kitchen counter with their eyes wide shut are reminders of exactly why he hates it, condescendingly shaking his head. He nibbles his lips lightly, gathering the patience to stay put for once.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” calls a voice, ringing louder than the laughter in the room. “You actually made it.”

Harry tenses, muscles on his jaw contracting, feeling a strong arm wrap around his, but slightly lowers his shoulders when he glances at the owner.

“Why’s that so hard to believe? I told you I would,” Harry grumbles, letting out a small breath, lightly lying back on Louis’ grasp.

Louis smiles widely, obviously able to gauge his friend’s displeasure, flicking his eyes on Harry’s stiff body. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he hums in amusement.

Harry glares at Louis with irritation, taking off his black mask, showing the proximity of his brows that are scrunching together. “You told me to, didn’t you?” There’s a bit of a bite in his voice, but Louis doesn’t even flinch, smile glued to his face.

“Like that’s ever stopped you,” Louis taunts, eyes shining. It’s one of his telltale signs that give away whenever he’s pleased, and Harry hates seeing the smugness radiating off of his face.

Harry shakes his head lightly, raising the cup to his lips.

“Why am I even here?” Harry grumbles into his drink. Louis’ lips tug downwards from hearing the harshness in Harry’s tone but lets Harry continue. “What was so important to drag me over here?” Harry exhales, the sound of exhaustion in his voice.

Louis chuckles at this, face glowing like Harry’s just told him a joke. “You’re seriously mad at me?” Louis tilts his head to the side, removing his white mask that’s been paired with a labcoat. “I should be mad because you didn’t even have the decency to wear a costume.”

“ _I am_ ,” Harry protests, getting a little restless and frowning slightly.

Louis rolls his eyes, exhaling a loud breath. “Oh really?” His eyes scan Harry from head to toe. “Those tight jeans and a black t-shirt hardly count as an outfit,” Louis says, lips tugging upwards again, giving Harry a knowing look. “ _Especially_  considering how you usually wear that.”

Harry frowns deeply, eyes like blades that can cut through steel, brushing his hair out of his face. At that moment he wishes he had a different best friend because Louis just won’t stop smiling. He knows Harry has no reasonable answer and Harry hates it, rolling back his shoulders to try to lessen the tension near his neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry says in defense, sour taste in his tongue over his less-than-impressive comeback.

Louis’ laugh is impossibly louder than the music and chants in the room, playfully nudging Harry with his shoulder. 

“Sure you don’t,” Louis grins, head moving towards the masses of people in their costumes. His eyes wander widely across the room, like he’s in search of someone.

Harry lets out a heavy breath, loudly taping his foot, and commanding Louis’ eyes to draw back to him.  “What?” Louis’ brows rise up, considerably much higher up than the normal height.

“Can I leave now?” Harry grumbles, annoyance beginning to overcome his voice.

“Uh no!” Louis croaks, eyes wide open with disbelief. “You literally just got here! And don’t try to lie because I saw you walk in here.” Louis finishes, as Harry scoffs loudly. He’s trying to search for a witty comment but before he can, Louis lets out a small chuckle, loud and sharp.

“Besides,” Louis grins widely, “I have someone I want you to meet,” he turns to look back at the crowd.

Harry’s unable to suppress the snort of disbelief. Each time he agreed to Louis’ mysterious set-ups the result were…far from pleasant. Sure, he was curious about who it was this time, but he had gone through enough failed meetings because the guys always ended up being arrogant or too self-involved. It had actually offended Harry because did Louis think  _that_  low of him?

_Was that the type of vibe he was giving off?_

Harry nervously scratches the area near his ear, furtively glancing at the crowd.

“Who do - ”

“Tomlinson!” Louis turns, his expression still completely serene, swiping the mask fully in place before turning to look back at Harry. “I’ll be back,” he says, stepping away from Harry. Harry opens his mouth in protest but Louis’ stern expression silences him.

“Don’t move,” Louis warningly points a finger towards Harry, figure turning smaller as the distance between the two increases.

“Just where would I go?” Harry grumbles, reluctantly resting his back against the wall, cup and mask hanging in separate hands. He purses his lips and makes a pouty face, foot trying to flatten the creases on the carpet.

Knowing Louis, it’ll probably take him a good half an hour before he finally shows up again, leaving Harry to fend off by himself in the loud room - the less than ideal situation for someone who doesn’t even want to be there.

Harry takes a deep breath, eyes squinting to try to get used to the dim lighting in the room, shaking his head. It’s not so much the drunk people that bother him, but it’s the fact that for the 20th time since arriving, he’s questioning why he’s even there.

Well, the answer is a simple “Louis,” who according to him, has become too much of a cynic for his own good, thus the various blind dates he attempts to set a less-than-thrilled Harry up with.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t appreciate it but he’s kind of tired of all the bullshit that comes with those so-called dates. He tried it for the sake of pleasing his friend, and okay,  _maybe slightly_  for himself too, but it’s been all for nothing, chest plummeting each time he’s stricken with that bolt of disappointment.

Harry lifts his cup back up to his face, arching back his head. A small droplet hits his throat as Harry angrily realizes it’s empty, letting out a harsh breath. The beer was the only thing that was keeping him still and he’s unprepared to stand there for however long Louis plans on taking.

Harry absentmindedly sweeps his eyes in the room, hands clasping the plastic cup as the liquidly sweat forms around his palm. The idea of another beer didn’t seem that bad now, as Harry sets his mask on the small table next to him and begins walking.

He moves past the crowded room, trying his best to avoid brushing bodies but failing miserably, cringing slightly when he senses more than a pair of eyes on him.

“Excuse me,” Harry twist his body, freeing himself from the tiny crowd and into a less occupied space.

The air is a lot less thick and Harry thinks it’s safe enough for him to relax, eyes still on his feet, but it’s anything but that because he comes to an abrupt pause when his body collides with a solid figure.

It’s like he’s been tackled, strong bone hitting Harry on the chest, as he winces in pain.

“Sorry,” Harry groans. His chest has taken quite the hit, using his left hand to massage it from the collision, as he straightens his neck up. It isn’t until he does that he immediately wishes he hadn’t, green eyes locking with blue eyes.

Harry gulps loudly.

_Shit._

His breath is hitching in his throat, and he feels the inside of his stomach clutch together in a tight ball, wondering if his face is giving away how he suddenly feels like he’s on fire. It must be something of that sort because the blond haired boy smirks a little, not breaking contact with Harry.

“It’s fine,” he says with a smile, Irish accent so strong and making Harry’s heart flutter.

It’s too warm and he can’t properly focus, openly staring into the boy’s face. Even if the boy is wearing a mask that covers more than half it, Harry can tell that he’s most definitely attractive, bringing a burning sensation to his cheeks.

The blond smiles with complete satisfaction, glancing up a bit at Harry’s face, making Harry wish he had put on that stupid mask to hide his scarlet cheeks.

“So,” the blond begins, almost like he’s trying to break the ice. “Are you just going to stand there watching me or are you going to ask me to dance?“ The boy grins, voice deep, sending a small jolt through Harry, blinking multiple times at the stranger in front of him.

“Who says I want to dance?” Harry asks as he swallows. He sweeps his tongue over his lips, tip of his ears going red.

The blond radiates complete calmness, releasing a small chuckle. “You’ve been looking at me for quite some time,” the blond hums, confidently offering Harry a smile. “I’d say you definitely do,” the blond grins, as Harry’s cheeks ignite.

If Harry could have chosen the right words, he would have said something flirtatious like “I could say the same thing about you,” while throwing the blond a toothy grin, but instead he just stands there like a huge dork, extremely off guard, and musters a small, “oh.”

The blond beams at Harry and it’s almost worth the embarrassment because it’s so wonderfully blinding, propelling Harry to take a small step forward as the blond’s grin increases.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, already leading Harry closer to him, and like an idiot, Harry follows. He’s at a loss for words, mouth slightly agape in confusion, as he exhales a small breath. The blond haired boy recognizes the action, turning quickly, blue eyes piercing but gentle.

“You might want to put your hands here,” the blond chuckles softy, indicating the area around his waist, smiling like he knows how to charm his way into getting things to go his way.

Harry’s eyes spring open, posture going even more rigid. It’s like he’s in the 3rd grade all over again, because suddenly he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s had enough experience with guys but shit. It all seems to have flown out of his mind.

The blond haired boy reads Harry with his eyes, grinning from ear to ear, and takes a step forward. He grabs Harry’s hands with his before Harry can even muster a word, warmth bringing Harry out of his dreamlike state.

“Here,” the boy puts Harry’s hands on his waist, as Harry’s clammy hands tentatively grab the smooth material from the boy’s shirt.

“You lead, I’ll follow,” the blond says, smile reassuring Harry. Harry nods quickly, body beginning to move, as he tries to focus on the beat of the music, wanting to start some sort of conversation but the words are stuck in his lips. He doesn’t want to come up awkward or antisocial because he’s certainly far from that, but the blond has his body close enough to make him lose his concentration, as he awkwardly moves his body in strange movements.

Harry doesn’t know why but all of a sudden he’s so bad at dancing, shoulders tense and hands stiff, as his enormous feet move out of the correct tempo.

Harry glances at the blond to see him watching him with a smile that’s growing with each of Harry’s… _unusual_  dance moves. His eyes lock with the blond and it’s enough for him to lose the count in his head, foot crashing down on the other boy’s foot. The blond winces widely, shutting his eyes, jaw tensing like he’s bitten his tongue.

“Sorry,” Harry immediately says, skin very red. He could literally die from humiliation because he hates being so clumsy, especially in front of such an attractive stranger.

“I don’t usually dance,” Harry adds, hoping that it will come off as sincere.

The blond opens his eyes, smiling softly to show Harry some support. Harry exhales a small breath of relief but his eyes widen as he feels the blond haired boy’s fingers circling their way closer to his neck.

The blond laughs, not like he’s laughing at Harry but like he’s laughing at the situation, and it’s absolutely more glorious than any music Harry has ever heard. “I couldn’t tell,” he says, pressing their bodies closer.

If it had been anyone else, Harry would have pushed him off and told him to “fuck off,” but he’s feeling chills all over his body that are telling him that he wants more of that contact.

Harry tentatively tightens his grip on the blond and the blond haired boy grins, fingers now fully cupping Harry’s neck.

“I’m never this bad,” Harry tells him, fingers fully grasping the blond’s waist. The blond lets out a small “hmm,” as if he’s lulling over the thought, face becoming much more visible in Harry’s vision with each step he takes.

“Must be the alcohol,” the blond laughs lightly.

Harry smiles, noting the irony in the statement. “I didn’t drink that much.”

“Then what is it?” The blond licks his lips, tilting his head slightly. “ _What_  has you so nervous?” he presses.

Harry can feel the lump coming back to his throat, mind threatening to go blank, but he shakes his head, willing his senses to stay intact.

“The alcohol,” Harry says, because it’s easier than saying “ _you,_ ” although he’s pretty sure that the blond can read that off of his answer due to the way his fingers tighten around Harry’s nape.

“It’ll do that to you,” the blond laughs. He’s close enough that Harry feels warm air hit his face, both of them breathing the same air.

“I don’t like parties all too much,” Harry stupidly says. He wants to take the words back because why did he have to say that? Couldn’t he have just stuck to something less silly?  _Who even says things like that_ , he thinks, confused when the blond nods.

“Me either but you know…” the boy coyly flicks his eyes to Harry’s face. “I don’t do this often.” A soft grin enters Harry face because there’s no way in hell that someone as attractive as the blond doesn’t go out to these types of things.

“Dance?” Harry asks, teasing tone replacing the nervous one. The blond chuckles and shakes his head, as he licks his lips, eyes roaming over to Harry’s lips. 

“No,” he smiles, craning his neck and Harry can see his pupils with so much clarity.

Harry gulps, pulse increasing in speed after seeing the glint in the boy’s eyes, hesitantly moving forward but leaving a small gap that’s dwindling.

“I don’t usually let people kiss me,” the blond tells him, voice raspier than before.

The words ignite goose bumps through Harry, eyes wide open, attempting to muster the correct words to speak.

He should walk away. He shouldn’t be doing  _this_. He  _shouldn’t_.  _He should—ah, fuck it_ , Harry thinks, moving his neck slightly to capture the blond’s lips with his.

A jolt of electricity expands through every part of Harry’s body, lips moving in unison with the blond haired boy. They’re so in synch, almost as if they’ve already done it together with the way they exchange open-mouth kisses, as Harry tentatively darts his tongue into the blond’s mouth.

The blond’s grasp on Harry’s neck tightens, like he can’t contain himself, as he follows Harry’s lead. He’s breathing loudly through his nose and Harry smirks knowing he’s responsible for that, hands leisurely running their way along the boy’s back.

Harry teasingly slides his tongue along the other boy’s lips, as both their breathing becomes more labored, tugging the boy’s lips with his own. He can feel the blond pressing back wholeheartedly with his kiss, surprised when he feels him disconnect their lips.

The blond’s milky skin has changed into a bright redness, eyes darker than before, and lips red swollen.

Harry quirks a brow, confusion setting in his face.

The boy sighs, releasing his grasp from Harry, and Harry hates how he already misses it, but it’s worse to know that he’s somehow pushed the blond away.

What did he do? Was he really  _that_  bad? Harry’s shoulders tense up, hurt overwhelming him.

“I’ve got to go,” the blond says seriously, and Harry’s face falls.

“You’ve got to go,” Harry repeats each word slowly, as if he’s trying to understand them individually.

The boy shakes his head apologetically. “I’ll be back,“ he insists, like he wants to soften the hit to Harry’s confidence.

Harry nods, exhaling softly to keep himself from showing just how hurt he is. It’s really stupid of him to be because he literally just met the boy, but it doesn’t soothe what seems like rejection, fully backing away from the blond.

The blond looks at Harry with wide eyes, panic in his face. It’s like he can read Harry perfectly, shocked expression changing to a more determined one, as he takes a step forward to connect their lips again.

It’s nowhere near as passionate as the last one but it’s just as intimate, warm pressure against their lips so addictive to Harry as he presses back wholeheartedly. He’s not even thinking anymore, a bit startling how willing he is to give himself to the blond. However, it’s him this time that backs away, unable to keep going when he knows that it comes with an expiration date.

The blond’s face is incredibly serious, eyes studying Harry’s face. “I promise,” the blond assures Harry, his voice stern, “I will.”

Harry nods. Even if he’s sure it’s a lie he thinks it’s better than showing the bitter dread he’s feeling. He smiles softly at the blond and the blond returns it, stepping away from him, his hair already lost in the sea of people.

Harry doesn’t even torture himself with watching the blond leave, immediately turning to walk out. He’ll face Louis later because it’s much easier than to face the ridicule of waiting around for someone who’s not going to show up, mind clouded even more than the dark sky, as his face hits the outside air.

*                                             

Harry silently sits in the cafeteria, absently picking his food, as he feels a strong hand hit him upside the head.

“Ow!” Harry grimaces, already knowing the owner.

“That was some bullshit you pulled,” Louis takes the seat across from Harry, frowning at Harry.

Harry returns the frown, face scrunching together as the words set in. “Sorry,” he grumbles sarcastically. He figures that Louis can see through it because he looks at him like he’s not amused.

“That’s all you can say?” Louis judges Harry with his eyes, even stronger than the harshness in his words. “Fuck, I thought you’d at least give me a lame excuse, like always,” Louis crosses his arms.

Harry rolls his eyes, face going back to its neutral expression. “I got bored,” he mutters, looking Louis straight in the eyes.

“Why?” Louis snorts, seemingly not believing the words that are coming out of Harry’s mouth. Harry scoffs, not appreciating the dismissive tone in Louis’ voice, his brows knitted close together.

“This may be hard for you to believe, but I’m  _not_  always in the mood to be around people,” Harry fires back, eyes reflecting his annoyance.

“I didn’t need for you to tell me. Believe me, I know,” Louis laughs harshly, as Harry narrows his eyes. It’s stupid of him to expect more of Louis, Harry realizes, dropping his gaze. He can still feel Louis’ gaze on him, attempting to decipher Harry as if he’s some code.

Harry sighs loudly, unaware that it had been something he had holding in. However, an image of the blond comes to flashing to his mind, as he shakes his head to get rid of those pestering thoughts. He could absolutely not be thinking of  _that_.

Louis clears his throat, whisking his head to properly look Harry in the face. “So what’s the reason?” Louis cranes his neck. “What could have been  _so important_  that you had to run off like that?”

The answer’s so obvious but Harry shrugs. “I wasn’t running.”

Louis croaks out a loud laugh. “Don’t lie,” he grits his teeth harshly. “You left without saying goodbye, and you only do that when you get stressed, and you only get stressed when you…” the words die in Louis’ lips, brows rising.

Harry visibly tenses, watching the way Louis’ mind connects the dots, face becoming much more gentle.

“Who was he?” Louis asks, voice soft, precaution overshadowing any amount of anger he had felt.

Harry’s brows rise, attempting to look confused for as long as he can. He’s certain it won’t work because Louis is closely watching him, but it’s better than owning up to something he’s not ready to talk about because truth is,  _he doesn't know._

“Who?” Harry asks in the most innocent voice he can. His face is scrunched together like he’s has no idea but it’s his eyes that are giving him away, and it’s clear that Louis can tell, as his eyes zoom in on Harry’s.

“The guy you met,” Louis sternly tells him.

“I didn’t meet anyone,” Harry mumbles.

Louis’ expression hasn’t changed but he’s violently shaking his head. “You might as well tell me. I won’t stop until you do.”

There’s no doubt to Harry that he will but he shakes his head, replicating Louis’ movements.

“I didn’t meet anyone.” Harry states, grumpily moving his face away from Louis’ gaze.  Surprisingly, Louis remains calm, transfixed on the way Harry’s dodging him.

“You know you can trust me,” Louis reminds him. “I know I can get crazy but you can trust me.”

Harry sighs deeply, bringing a hand to his mop of hair. Maybe if he doesn’t’ fully focus on Louis’ face he’ll find the courage, he thinks, fingers grabbing at the soft ends.

“It’s not like it even matters what happened,” Harry says finally after a prolonged silence, pulling a strand of curls. “I don’t even know his name.”

Louis frowns and Harry hopes that he’ll take the exhaustion in his voice as a sign to drop the subject, but Louis’ eyes are digging into him.

“Why didn’t you just ask?” Louis asks, like he’s trying to make it sound casual, but Harry can tell he’s questioning his common sense.

Harry shakes his head, voice soft but sharp. “I was stupid,” he swallows, lips pressed in a tight line. “It just happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to think.”

Louis nods, some sort of twisted thought entering his head. “Did you…” he trails off, mouth tugging upwards into a small smirk.

Harry’s eyes widen, face smeared with a light pink. “It wasn’t like that!” Harry bursts, harshly holding his fork in his hand. “I don’t do that,” he croaks, trying to steady his voice.

“Then what did you do?” Louis questions, the smirk firmly in place. Harry twirls around in his chair, trying to ignore how smug Louis’ face is, mouth going dry. 

“We just snogged a bit,” Harry admits, lifting his gaze to see Louis practically glowing.

Harry defensively raises his shoulders, throat clogged, making it difficult for him to speak. “He was nice,” he counters.

“He sounds  _nice_ ,” Louis hums, chuckling softly at Harry’s flushed cheeks. He’s finding the whole situation amusing, Harry can tell, letting out a small groan, chest rising up and down, as he fails to find a decent rhythm.

“Never mind,” Harry says sourly, going back to his food. “Forget I mentioned it.”

Harry knows that Louis is just being Louis, but he doesn’t like the tone, the know-it-all attitude, annoyance burning at the pit of his stomach.

Harry’s moves his fork around, bracing himself from some unnecessary comment from Louis, but the silence continues. He frowns lightly, lifting his gaze to see Louis staring at him. He’s not even blinking, like his mind is furiously working, as Harry clears his throat.

“What’d he look like?” Louis asks, eyes locked with Harry’s. His face is icy and cold, with shoulders that look like they won’t budge, but Harry knows that it’s what he does when he wants to let people know he’s being serious, his stomach in bits, but feeling a lot more comfortable with this Louis.

“Blond hair. Blue eyes. Irish accent,” Harry shuts his mouth. It’s the most generic answer he could have given, but he’s forcing himself to refrain from saying something ridiculous like “breathtaking” because of how it’ll earn so much taunting from Louis. Maybe not at that moment but most likely in the near future, he thinks.

If Louis can sense Harry’s worries, he doesn’t show it, keeping his face completely serious.

“Much help that is,” Louis breathes lightly, eyes shining with sympathy. “There are  _a million_  guys like that, Harry.”

“Not like him,” Harry says, tone biting back, gritting his teeth.

Louis’ eyes grow impossibly huge, creases on his forehead that are spreading their way to his whole face, as he keeps his eyes on Harry. He takes a deep breath, slowly moving his mouth with caution.

“You liked him,” Louis states. There’s no doubt expressed in his tone, absolute certainty in his statement.

Harry shakes his head lightly, the nerves driving away his tiredness.

“Doesn’t matter if I did or if I didn’t,” Harry pauses, taking a small breath. “I won’t see him again,” he exhales.

Louis’ brows flinch, the closest he’s gone to his usual snarky attitude, letting out a harsh chuckle.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Louis says, breaking away from his statue-like posture. “He was at the party so someone must of known who he was,” Louis offers, hunched back straightening up. “If he’s as great as you say, people are sure to have taken notice of him.”

“It’s not like that.” Harry utters, setting his hand on the table as he places his chin over it.

Louis frowns lightly, looking over at Harry as if he’s gone mad. “Explain then, because you aren’t making any sense.”

“It’s like you said,” Harry pauses, voice so soft that it sounds like he’s whispering. "There are a million guys like that.”

“I thought you said he was special,” Louis examines Harry carefully.

Harry rolls his neck, trying to release the tension surrounding it, settling himself in his seat, fingers lightly grazing the skin underneath his chin,

“He is and he isn’t.” Louis parts his mouth but crumbles underneath Harry’s stern gaze. “He a normal guy but he’s not.” Harry’s eyes shin brightly, remembering the blond’s laugh, eliciting a small smile from Harry.

Harry turns in time and sees Louis’ neutral expression twitching into something he’s quite not sure, but with Louis it never seems like it’s a good thing, or at least for him.

Harry sits up, turning so that his profile is facing Louis, because it’s a lot easier not looking him in the eyes when he’s basically confessed having feelings for a boy he doesn’t really know.

The nerves start creeping back into Harry’s stomach, intensifying with each minute he sits there. “If you’re going to laugh, then go ahead,” he mutters, reluctantly raising his gaze and finds Louis softly smiling at him.

“It’s not that,” Louis grins brightly as he half-shrugs. “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t introduce you to Zayn.”

“Zayn?” Harry repeats, stomach dropping at the thought of Louis’ notorious set-ups.

Louis nods and smiles like he can read the thoughts swirling in Harry’s mind. “I thought you guys would hit it off but I guess this happened for a reason.”

“There’s no reason.” Harry groans. His tone wipes away the smile from Louis’ face, as he looks at Harry with worried eyes.

“Harry…”

“Let’s just forget this,” Harry tells him, the bitter sound of dread in his tongue, glancing back down at his food.

There’s a silence the sets in between the two but it’s a bit uncomfortable, as Harry’s mind continues moving in circular motions. He can tell Louis is feeling bad for bringing up the subject because he stays quiet, mouth clasped shut.

However, the silence becomes too much for Harry, who takes a deep breath and looks at Louis, who immediately offers him a smile.

It kills some of the tension, as a conversation begins, noncommittally on Harry’s part. He’s a bit on the defense, smile not quite reaching his eyes, and Louis can tell, reaching to pat Harry’s arm, and it’s only then that Harry begins to relax.

*

“That him?” Louis asks, taking a light sip of his cup.

Harry’s expectant eyes go across the room, falling on the blond hair that makes his chest soar but deflates it even more quickly, because the blond has a completely different build than the boy he’s looking for.

Harry shakes his head, letting out a small breath.

“No,” Harry says, the sound of disappointment dripping in his tongue. Louis lets out a small sigh, sympathetically looking at him.

As with every other time, Harry knows it’s useless, but against his better knowledge, Harry had agreed to Louis’ pleas and gone to each party in the hopes of finding the boy. They figured that if he had been at one he was most likely someone from their school, and if it wasn’t that, then he was someone who liked going to them, but it didn’t make the plummeting in Harry’s stomach easier each time he saw someone who wasn’t him.

Louis’ eyes wander to Harry’s stiff shoulders, patting him lightly. “I’m gonna get another one of these,” he says, voice soothing, “You want one?”

Harry shakes his head, eyes stubbornly still looking into the crowd. “Not tonight,” he says because he knows if begins now, he’ll probably won’t stop, in the hopes of erasing the pressure caught in between his chest and throat.

Louis lets out a small breath, excusing himself from a stubborn Harry.

Harry sighs loudly, casting his eyes to his feet. He knows what he’s doing is pointless and that he’s torturing himself by going to these things, but it’s like he can’t stop. It’s too magnetic, seductively pulling him back in each time he thinks he’s done, thinking about just how much he wants to feel the blond haired boy’s lips on his again.

It was so crazy how Harry could feel so strongly about him because he didn’t know him, but just by the simple contact he knew that whatever it was, it couldn’t be matched with anyone else.

Harry lets out a small chuckle, thinking about his foolishness, but lifts his head back up, eyes falling on a boy walking to him.

“Hey, Harry,” he smiles at Harry, and Harry returns it without thinking.

“Hey, Liam.” Harry says, completely at ease with the situation. “You okay?” he asks, noticing an unusually jittery Liam who’s unable to stand still.

“I’m good,” he says, taking in a deep breath, face turning calm. “You?” he asks, face looking like he’s not properly paying attention and already trying to think of something else to say.

“Good,” Harry says, a silence overtaking them.

It’s an awkward attempt of small talk from what Harry can see, hand going to his neck. He softly scratches the flesh as he tries to remember exactly where he knew Liam from, opening his mouth but Liam beats him to it.

“You want to dance?” he asks, eyes steady and strong. Harry’s lips slightly part open, hanging there like he’s dumbstruck, as he watches Liam.

“I…” Harry stops because he’s been really caught off guard. His mind and body are telling him different things, but he’s too stumped to react, idiotically staring at Liam with his mouth ajar.

“Some other time?” Liam asks, trying to turn a no into a slightly less embarrassing one.

Harry’s senses start kicking in again, nodding, “sure.”

It’s a way to soften the blow and both of them know it as Liam nods, quickly turning away, distance increasing between the two.

Harry lets out a small breath, head snapping to his side to see Louis holding a cup in his hands. He stares at Harry with a knowing look and Harry knows that he’s heard the whole thing, smiling gently at him to let him know that he’s okay.

Louis doesn’t miss a beat, setting the drink aside. “Let’s go,” he says, and for once, Harry obeys without resistance.

*

Harry’s beginning to think that he’s been cursed because he just can’t find the blond - no matter how hard he tries. He wonders if it’s been some type of karma because he’s always been a cynic, realizing and hating how right Louis has been all this time.

Louis always did tell him that he’d fall for the guy he least expected, but Harry hadn’t expected it to be so sudden. He could have lived without the deep infatuation he felt towards the blond because it wasn’t anything like the movies or those silly Hallmark cards with the happy ending guaranteed. It was anything but that, crumbling with each failed attempt to find him, as Louis stood by Harry’s side and annoyingly told him to “keep looking.”

It’s actually not too bad having Louis by his side because he’s been quite reasonable - only pestering him with questions and trying to stick to Harry like he’s gum.

They’ve always been close friends but it’s like Louis can sense Harry’s restlessness, choosing to spend every aching minute together, even if he’s not doing anything, like at that exact moment.

They’re supposed to be studying together but it’s more or less only Harry studying because Louis is on his laptop, telling Harry that he needs the book before he can properly study.

Harry’s hand moves thoroughly, comfortably reading the text from his book. He’s in his full concentration mode with brows knitted together and mind effortlessly taking in all the information. However, it’s broken as quick as a snap as soon as Louis’ obnoxious phone rings loudly, deafening to his ears.

Harry drops the book and glares at Louis through his narrow eyes. “Sorry,” Louis mumbles, opening his phone to read his text message.

“There’s a button to silence that, you know,” Harry mumbles. Louis shrugs, smiling softly. “I know.”

Harry lips tuck underneath his teeth, biting lightly, but shakes his head. He’s not going to deal with Louis’ antics, he thinks, but notices Louis getting up, arm reaching for his jacket.

“Where are you going?” Harry asks, watching Louis put on his jacket. Louis reaches for his keys on top of the table Harry’s working on. “I need to pick up my book,” he says, tucking his phone in his pocket, eyes falling back on Harry. “You want to come?”

“It’s fine,” Harry shakes his head. “I’ll stay,” Harry moves his gaze back to his book, hoping to regain some of his concentration, but he feels a strong hand on his shoulder that gently nudges him.

“What are you going to be doing here alone?” Louis asks, fingers squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “It won’t even take long, I promise.”

“All the more reason for me to stay,” Harry smirks, turning the page. Louis lets out a small groan, voice tired and strained.

“Don’t be so difficult.” Louis says, slight anger taking over his face but lets it go.

Harry’s ready to say something snarky but cuts himself off. Louis has pretty much been there for him in these past few weeks, looking for the blond haired boy who seems to been erased from the face of the earth. The  _least_  he could do is pay attention this time, right?

Harry shuts his book, pretending to be crossed, as he gets up from his seat. “I’ll be bored to death but fine,” he grumbles, brows close together.

Louis grins, putting an arm around Harry. “I’d say we’re even then,” he laughs, and Harry pushes him away.

*

They walk because according to Louis, the place is quite close. Harry’s surprised to see that it’s no farther than two blocks away, and it’s actually a good study break but he doesn’t let Louis see that, neutral expression stuck on his face.

“Here.” Louis says and Harry stops, looking at the row of houses, looking as if they’re at least a hundred years old.

“Which one?” Harry asks, and Louis points to the bright blue one with the white door, leading them there. Harry sighs in relief because it’s the less scary one of the block, setting his gaze on Louis.

“Whose house is this?” Harry asks, eyes studying Louis’ profile.

“A friend,” Louis says, knocking the door. His vague answer sets an alarm in Harry’s head, as Harry looks at him with narrowed eyes.

“Which friend?” Harry presses, voice insistent but calm. He’s sure that Louis is purposely dodging the question, as he stares at Louis with eyes that are digging into Louis like blades.

“Zayn,” Louis mumbles out, wincing ever so slightly, as Harry jaw drops.

“The Zayn you  _tried_  to set me up with?” Harry’s tone rises various octaves, nerves creeping into his body.

Louis glances at him, nudging Harry with his shoulder. “Relax,” he grins at Harry’s shocked face. “He doesn’t know about  _that_ ,” Louis winks.

“You - ” Harry protest but silences himself as soon as the door swings open and sees a boy watching him with a smile on his face.

“Hey,” the boy, whom Harry presumes Zayn is, says. He grins at Louis like they’re good friends, eyes falling back to Harry, smile friendly.

“Harry this is Zayn. Zayn this is Harry,” Louis says in an uncommitting manner, and getting the potentially awkward introductions out of the way. Harry almost wants to laugh because had things gone Louis’ way, the words would’ve been used in a different context, mouth pressed together to keep the laughter from escaping him.

Zayn nods to Harry and moves to the side, allowing them space to make themselves in. “The book’s in my room,” he tells Louis as he shuts the door.

Harry can tell that Louis has been there several times because he nods and walks straight ahead to the room to their right, but Harry pauses when a picture captures his attention, people their age with masquerade masks smiling towards the camera.

“That’s recent,” Zayn says, passing by Harry and making his way to the room. Louis looks at the picture and at Harry with the same fascination, like he knows what Harry’s thinking.

“You want to wait here?” Louis asks him, and Harry nods. He can hear their footsteps becoming more distant as he keeps his eyes locked on the picture, studying every detail. It’s seems silly to him to be putting so much attention to something so insignificant like that, but Zayn had been there that night at the party. It’s an unlikely possibility, Harry knows that much, but he silently studies the picture, searching for  _any_  strands of blond hair.

Harry’s too fully concentrated on the picture that it startles him when he hears a loud voice call to him.

“Hey,” says a voice and Harry’s heart drops. It doesn’t drop because of the tone - the tone is  _beyond_  pleasant. Or the way he feels like he’s been sneaked up on. But what makes his pulse quicken is the thick Irish accent.

Harry’s breath nearly hitches when he recognizes it, taking a deep breath to steady himself before turning around to face him, and sure enough it’s  _really him._

“You’re Lo - " The blond’s eyes swing open, realization written over his face, as the words dies on his lips.

In all Harry’s time since the kiss, he’s wondered if it was just him who had felt it. If it was all made up in his head, but looking at the blond’s eyes he’s completely certain that it’s not, noticing the blond’s lips tug upwards.

They stand and just observe each other, both too shy to say anything, red faces glowing with the light in the room. Finally, it’s the blond who speaks, voice barely audible, but smile incredibly confident, glee in his eyes.

“ _It’s you_.”

Harry licks his lips, keeping his eyes on the blond as Louis’ and Zayn’s voices approach them. It should really snap him back to reality but he’s lost in the blond’s spell, eyes remaining perched on his face, noticing the sound die down. He can practically feel Louis digging his eyes into him, but the blond’s not looking away from him and neither is he.

“You two know each other?” Zayn, the only one in the dark, asks.

It’s like Harry’s dumbstruck, looking into the blond’s face with wide eyes, who grins at him as if telling him  _go ahead_.

Harry smiles shortly, the first one that hasn’t had to be forced since the masquerade party.

“You could say something like that,” Harry grins, keeping his eyes on the blond.

The blond smiles, making his way towards Harry but pauses at an arms length as he sticks out his hand.

“I’m Niall,” he says, the warmth in his hand electrocuting Harry, and Harry just smiles because this was it.

“Harry,” he says, eyes locked on Niall, as his heart beats loudly in his chest.

It’s with those simple words that Harry knows he’s done for, smile deeper than the dimples on his cheeks, clutching tightly to Niall’s hand with no intention of letting go this time around.

*

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come and say hi [here](http://arie-172.tumblr.com/), or come complain about this fic if you want.


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